Hagar of the Pawn-Shop

by Fergus Hume

  While he was deciphering these, Nat turned to Hagar.

  “Thankee, miss,” he said, graciously. “If we git the money, I’ll give ‘ee a pound or so.”

  “I don’t want it,” replied Hagar, abruptly. “Give me the pawn-ticket and thirty-one shillings—that is, what I gave you, and the percentage. Then I’ll go.”

  Nat produced money and ticket from his pocket, and gave them into her hand. “But I’d like to do summat fur you gitting that idol back,” said he, wistfully.

  “Well, Mr. Prime,” said Hagar, pausing at the door, with a smile, “when you get the fifty thousand pounds you talk about, reward me by coming to the shop, and telling me the story. I should like to know why Yu-ying stole the god; also why he restored it.”

  “I’ll tell ‘ee, never fear, miss; and a rum yarn it is. Y’ won’t take a drain, miss? No? Well, good day! good day, and thankee.”

  When Hagar retired Nat came back to the table, and found that Dr. Dick had ascertained the meaning of the Chinese characters. They gave the address of one Yeh, who kept an opium shop—or rather den—in Vesey Street, Whitechapel.

  “We must go there,” said Dick, rising, “and interview this Yeh. I dare say he has the iron box in charge.”

  “I guess some Chinky of sorts has the box,” assented Nat, “but ‘twon’t be Yeh. If Poa lef’ the box along o’ him, I surmise he’s dead and buried by this time. Even Chinamen ain’t immortal.”

  “Yeh or another—what does it matter, Prime? All we have to do is to show Kwan-tai’s jade image to the custodian of the box, and it will be handed over to us.”

  “That’s so,” replied Nat, glancing at his watch. “Seems as we’ve got the whole arternoon to engineer the job. Let’s grub a bit, and start right away for Whitechapel.”

  While at the meal, Prime seemed thoughtful, and did not respond very enthusiastically to Dr. Dick’s delight at discovering the whereabouts of the treasure. Dick commented on this.

  “You don’t seem over-pleased, Nat,” he said; in a piqued tone, “yet your share will be twenty-five thousand pounds; end you ought to be both contented and delighted. What’s your trouble?”

  “Yu-ying, doctor. I don’t trust that heathen a cent. What did he give back the jade god for?”

  “Because he couldn’t find the secret of opening it,” replied Dick; “and seeing that the image was no good, he restored it to its proper owner.”

  Nat shook his head. “As a priest of the temple, Yu-ying is the proper owner of that there god,” said he, doubtfully. “I stole it, y’ know, so ‘twasn’t mine; not much. No, doctor; there’s something queer about the biz. Guess this Chinky’s rubbin’ it in with salt.”

  “What do you mean, Nat?”

  “Why,” said Mr. Prime, coolly, “‘twouldn’t surprise me to find as how Yu-ying has lifted the lot of them gods of gold, and he’s sent back Kwan-tai so as we kin take a squint at the empty box. It ‘ud be like a Chiner d——l to play low in that style.”

  “I hope not, I trust not!” cried Dick, turning pale. “But we had better make certain of what has been done. Come, Nat; let us start for Whitechapel at once.”

  Still shaking his head, for a long acquaintance with Chinamen had inspired him with a wholesome mistrust of the race, Nat paid his bill, and set out for Whitechapel in the company of Dr. Dick.

  “You take my word for it, doctor,” said he, when they were in the train, “there’s a big sell waiting for us at the end of this trip. I guess ‘twasn’t honesty has made that Celestial give back the jade idol.”

  On arriving at Whitechapel, the two adventurers had some difficulty in discovering Vesey Street; and it was quite an hour before they ascertained its whereabout. It proved to be a narrow and dirty alley of no great length, midway in which was placed the dwelling of Yeh. A red-painted sign, sprinkled with golden Chinese characters, announced that the house was “the Abode of a Hundred Blessings,” and that Yeh was a dealer in goods from the Flowery Land. Dick translated this for the benefit of Nat, who could speak but not read Chinese, and commented thereon.

  “Either the original Yeh is in existence, or this is a son of his,” he said, and on Nat grunting assent they both stopped at the door of the house which they fondly hoped contained the treasure of Poa, the golden idols of the Imperial dynasty of T’sin.

  In answer to their knock, a sleek, soft-footed China-boy, dressed in a blue indigo-hued blouse and with his pigtail down, appeared to admit them. Nat, as more experienced in Chinese speech, explained that they wanted to see Yeh. After some hesitation, the boy conducted them through a long dark passage into a rather large room piled up with goods, amongst which moved three or four Chinamen. These packages were the ostensible reason of Yeh’s business; but at the back of the shop, through another dark pas- sage, there was an opium den. The boy spoke to a spectacled Chinese merchant about the two Englishmen, whereupon he came forward and addressed them in his own tongue.

  “What can your vile slave do for the lords who honor his despicable house?” asked the suave Celestial, with all the flowery humbug of Chinese speech. Nat, conversant with such rhodomontade, replied in a similar fashion. “Your humble guests would see the learned and respectable Yeh.”

  “He is my worshipful father,” said the Chinaman, with a bow. “And what would the gra- cious lords with the reverend Yeh?”

  For answer, Nat pulled the jade idol out of his pocket; at the sight of which the son of Yeh went as green as the god’s image. Down he fell on his knees and knocked his forehead three times on the floor; after which, without wasting time in explanation, he conducted the two Europeans into the opium den. Here, on a kind of elevated platform, and under the smiling face of a particularly ugly Joss, sat Yeh, the merchant, a very old and wrinkled man. He wore heavy spectacles with tortoiseshell rims; also a thickly-wadded blouse of red silk embroidered elaborately in gold thread. Like his son, he was likewise greatly struck by the sight of jade Kwan-tai, and, like him, made genuflections.

  “The learned Poa was my much-esteemed friend,” he said, bowing to the Europeans; “with me he left an iron box, to be delivered to him who showed me the image of the mighty war-god. But Poa did not say that the sacred jade god would be shown twice!”

  “Oho!” cried Dick, in disgust. “Yu-ying!”

  “You know the name, I see,” said Yeh, a trifle grimly; “this priest of the temple in the Street of the Water Dragon is your much-admired friend?”

  “Yes, yes!” said Nat, eagerly; “we gave him the jade god so that he should come and look at the iron box of Poa; but we did not tell him to take it away.”

  “He obeyed your commands, my lord,” replied Yeh, rising stiffly; “he looked at the box, but he did not take it away.”

  Dr. Dick jumped up with a cry of relief and delight. “Then the box is here!” he said, in excited tones. “Take us to see it at once!”

  “It waits your noble presence in another room.”

  So speaking, Yeh, followed by the anxious adventurers, passed through a little door into a kind of strong room, dimly lighted by a small grated window. In a corner, towards which the old Chinaman pointed, there was a large iron box painted black, upon the lid of which were inscribed some Chinese characters in white paint. From a nail above this Yeh took a small copper key, and presented it to Dick with a bow. Then he turned to go, “My lords can look at Poa’s secret alone,” said he, backing with many bows to the door. “Who am I that I should meddle with the business of those favored by Kwan-tai?”

  On being left alone, the two men looked at one another in some surprise and a little doubt. “The job’s been easier than I thought,” said Nat, after a pause. “All the same, I guess as Yu-ying’s got some trick to play us.”

  “Impossible!” replied Dick, going on his knees before the box. “Here is the key, and within, no doubt, we shall find the golden gods of T’sin.”

  “Well,” said Nat, with a nod, “if everything’s square, I’ll never cuss a heathen Chinee again. Open the box, do
ctor.”

  The key turned easily in the lock, and Dick flung back the lid. In an instant a flare of fire spouted out with a great roar. The two men, the room, and the greater part of Yell’s dwelling were blown to shreds. They had expected to find a fortune, instead of which they discovered dynamite and a terrible death.

  Two months after this, when London had almost forgotten the mysterious explosion in Vesey Street, Whitechapel, a Chinaman was reporting himself to the priests of Kwan-tai’s temple, Canton, in this fashion:

  “Most holy men,” said he, pointing to a number of golden images which lay on a lacquer table before him, “here are the images of Kwan-tai, the gods of the Imperial House of T’sin, brought back from the dark land of the Outer Barbarians by your servant Yu-ying. When your greatnesses found the confession of the evil priest Poa that he had stolen the gods, and had confided the secret of their whereabouts to the jade image of Kwan-tai, you ordered your unworthy slave to search and find the treasure, so that it should be restored to the temple in the Street of the Water Dragon. But before your servant could depart to the Land of Darkness, a foreign devil, also possessed of Poa’s secret, stole the jade image which contained the name of the hiding-place. I, foolish Yu-ying, followed the barbarian in a tea-junk to his own land; but it was many days before I could get the jade image. Then the foreign devil pawned for gold the sacred idol of war, and it was placed in the window of the shop. I broke the window, most reverend priests; I stole the image, and going to the house of Yeh, I recovered the golden idols which are now before you. But I wished to punish Yeh for his sacrilege in conspiring with Poa against Kwan-tai; and also to kill the foreign devil who had thieved the jade god. To this end I removed the golden idols from the box, and in their place I left a dangerous powder of the barbarians, which they call dynamite. This I arranged with care so that when the lid of the box was flung open it would rush out like the breath of the Fire Dragon, and slay those who came to steal the gods. As I intended, holy ones, so it happened, as I have learnt since. The foreign devil and a friend were shattered, and also the house of Yeh was destroyed. It was for this end that I restored the idol Kwan-tai to the pawn-shop; and thus did I lure the foreign devils to their deaths. Now, no one knows the truth, mighty servants of Kwan-tai, save yourselves. Say, have I done well?”

  And all the sleek priests answered with one voice: “Yu-ying, you have done well. Your tablet shall be placed in the temple of Kwan-tai.”

  And while this explanation was being made, Hagar, in far-off London, was waiting for the return of Nat Prime to hear the story of the jade idol. But he never appeared.

  CHAPTER V. THE FOURTH CUSTOMER AND THE CRUCIFIX.

  MENTION has been made of Bolker, the misshapen imp, who was Hagar’s factotum and the plague of her life. With her clear brain and strong will, she could manage most people, but not this deformed street arab, whose nature seemed to be compounded of all that was worst in human beings. He lied freely, he absented himself from the shop when he had no business to do so, he even stole little things, when he thought it was safe to run the risk with so vigilant a mistress; but, notwithstanding all these vices, Hagar kept him as servant. Her reason was that he possessed three redeeming virtues: he was an excellent watch-dog, he was admirable at clinching bargains, and he was cunning enough not to lose his situation. Clever servants have been retained by mistrustful mistresses for less reasonable qualities.

  When Hagar went out on business—which she frequently did—Bolker stayed to look after the shop, and to receive such customers as might present themselves. To these he gave as little as he possibly could on the articles they wished to pawn; and when Hagar returned he had usually some tales to tell of excellent business having been transacted for the good of the shop. Then Hagar would reward him with a little money and Bolker would take unauthorized leave to misconduct himself generally on the proceeds. This program never varied.

  One day Hagar returned late in the evening, having been in the country on an excursion connected with a copper key. This adventure will be related another time, for the present story deals with the strange episode of the silver crucifix. It was this article which Bolker had ready to show Hagar when she entered the pawn-shop at eight o’clock.

  “See here, missus!” said Bolker, pointing to the wall at the back of the shop; “there’s a fine thing I got for you—cheap!”

  It may be here remarked that Bolker had been to school, and having a remarkably clever brain as a set-off against his deformed body, he had succeeded in gaining a certain amount of learning, and also a mode of speaking, as regards both diction and accent, much above the ordinary conversation of his class. Proud of this superiority, the clever imp spoke always slowly and to the point, so that he might preserve his refined speech.

  “Dirt cheap, missus!” added Bolker, who used vulgar words when excited, and he was so now. “Ten pound I lent on it; the silver itself is worth more than that!”

  “Oh, I can always trust your judgment in these matters,” laughed Hagar, and took down the crucifix to examine it more particularly.

  It was over a foot long, made of refined silver now somewhat tarnished from neglect and exposure to the air; and the workmanship was peculiarly fine and delicate. The figure of the Christ crowned with a thorn-wreath was exquisite; and the arms of the cross itself, enchased with arabesque patterns, were beyond all praise from an artistic point of view. Altogether, this silver crucifix, obtained by the crafty Bolker for ten pounds—a sum greatly below its real value—was a remarkably fine sample of Renaissance workmanship in the style of Cellini. Learned in such things, Hagar, even in the yellow glow of the badly lighted lamp, saw its magnificence and worth at a glance. She patted Bolker’s red head of hair with approval.

  “Good little man!” said she, in a pleased tone. “You always do well when I am out of the shop. There is half-a-crown. Go and enjoy yourself, but don’t make yourself sick with smoking a pipe as you did last time, my boy But one moment,” she added; “who pawned this?”

  “Gemma Bardi, 167, Saffron Hill.”

  “An Italian woman. Like enough, as the crucifix is of the Renaissance,” said Hagar, musingly. “What was she like, Bolker?”

  “Oh, a fine, handsome girl,” replied Bolker, leering in a man-about-town style; “black hair and eyes the same just like yours, missus, only I guess you’re the finer woman of the two. Here—don’t you box my ears,” shouted the imp, wriggling out of Hagar’s grip, “or I shan’t tell you what I found out!”

  “About this crucifix?” asked Hagar, dropping her hands.

  “Yes. ‘Tain’t a crucifix; it’s a dagger.”

  “A dagger, you young fool! What are you talking?”

  “Sense, missus—as I always do. Look here, if you don’t believe me.”

  Bolker took the presumed crucifix in his lean, small hands, and with deft fingers he touched a concealed spring set where the four arms of the cross joined. At once the lower and longer arm, with the silver Christ attached thereto, slid down, and lo! the cross was changed into a slender and, sharp-pointed poniard, the handle of which was formed by the upper arms and the, so to speak, heft of the cross. The symbol of Christ, of peace, of faith, had become a deadly and dangerous weapon of bloodshed. Hagar was so startled that Bolker, the discoverer, grinned.

  “It’s fine, ain’t it?” he said, gloating over the shining blade. “It would stick a man like fun! I dare say it’s been through lots. My eye, what larks!”

  The joy of the boy was so grim and unnatural that Hagar snatched the crucifix—or rather the poniard, as it was now—from his grasp, and pushed him out of the shop with the sharp command that he was to put up the shutters. When he had done so, and all was safe for the night, he went away to enjoy himself with his half-crown; while Hagar carried the newly-pawned article into the back parlor to examine it anew, as she ate her frugal supper. The crucifix, which was at once a symbol of peace and war attracted her strangely.

  Why did it possess these dual characteristics?
To what end had its maker placed in the hands of priests this deadly and concealed weapon? The hands of the Christ were not attached to the cross bars; and the sheath—as it might be—of the poniard slipped easily off the blade, figure and all. Hagar wondered in her imaginative fashion if it had glimmered, a symbol of Christianity over the dying, or had flashed cruelty into the heart of some helpless human being. From the old bookseller in Carby’s Crescent she had heard some strange stories of the Italian Renaissance—that wild and contradictory time. Religion had then gone hand in hand with paganism; Savonarola had grown up beside the Medici; Popes had decreed peace, and had plunged whole nations in war; and the laugh of a friend had oftentimes been but a prelude to the death-blow. Of this many-sided, sinful epoch the crucifix dagger was a symbol; it represented at once its art, its religion, and its lust of blood. Hagar evoked strange visions in her dingy parlor from that strange piece of silver.

  Afterwards, in the imperative demands of business, Hagar forgot her dreams about the crucifix, and looked upon it as an article of value merely pawned by its owner, and which would be redeemed in due time. A month later the ticket made out in the name of Gemma Bardi was brought to her by a man of the same nationality. This tall, slender, supple Italian, with oval olive face and fierce eyes had come to take the crucifix out of pawn. Although he produced the ticket and offered the money, Hagar hesitated at giving the article to him.

  “It was pawned by Gemma Bardi,” said she, taking down the crucifix from where it hung in the obscurity.

  “My wife,” replied the man, briefly.

  “She sent you to redeem it?”

  “Gran Dio! Why not?” he broke out, impetuously. “I am Carlino Bardi, her husband. She pawned the crucifix against my will, while I was absent in the country with my organ. Now that I have returned, I come with ticket and money to redeem it. I do not wish to lose the Crucifix of Fiesole.”